


hold me in your arms (so i can finally breathe)

by seiza_no_sora



Category: BanG Dream! Girl's Band Party! (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Hanahaki Disease, emetophobia warning, kaoru is basically my self insert so i can vomit misaki appreciation into fic form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 08:32:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15335949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seiza_no_sora/pseuds/seiza_no_sora
Summary: Petals.Floating in the soup, softly translucent where the boiling liquid has drained away their colour. Small and pale and delicate, scattered on the stove and the floor beneath it. And one large, rich violet one, sitting softly right in the palm she’d used to muffle her coughs.“Oh.”The word escapes Misaki in a prolonged breath, and she sits down heavily onto the cold kitchen floor.





	hold me in your arms (so i can finally breathe)

**Author's Note:**

> hi i haven't actually finished a fic in oh,,, about 5 years and also this is my first attempt at romance like ever so please go easy on me lmao. anyway yeah enjoy this dramatic teen angst™ followed by soft kaomisas <3
> 
> for those who don't know, hanahaki disease is a fictional disease where a person whose love for another is (apparently) unrequited will cough up flowers which grow inside their throat. the plants can be removed using surgery, but the person's romantic feelings will vanish along with them.

Misaki is in her last class of the day, drowsing lightly under the gentle breeze from the window and the teacher’s soothing monotone, when she feels the beginnings of a prickle in her throat. Blinking herself awake, she coughs discreetly a few times, causing the irritation to fade to a more muted sensation. It refuses to disappear entirely, though. Misaki’s brows furrow when she realises that she’s probably fallen victim to the latest bout of spring cold. It’s already claimed a few other classmates, keeping them away several days before they could return to class. 

 _And just as exams are coming up, too,_ the brunette thinks, huffing out a sigh.

From a few tables away, Kokoro turns inquisitive eyes towards her. Misaki gives a short shake of her head, telling the blonde not to worry, and the other cocks her head to the side before facing the front once more. At least there’s no band rehearsal after school today, Misaki remembers with relief; Hagumi is busy with her softball team in anticipation of a major game. Hopefully, if Misaki turns in early tonight, she’ll be able to ward off the worst of the cold before it can really put her out of commission. Just thinking about how she’d explain both Michelle’s and her absence to her oblivious bandmates is making her temples throb.

As soon as the bell rings, Misaki packs up and is out of the classroom, pretending not to notice Kokoro start towards her with a bright smile. She feels guilty for blowing off what was probably an offer to walk home together, but can’t risk worrying the other girl with a sudden coughing fit or something else. Not taking any detours to the mall or a family restaurant like she usually would, Misaki hurries home in the warm afternoon. She makes a beeline for the kitchen upon entering her house, and soon has water containing chicken and a smattering of vegetables simmering in a soup pot.

Misaki is just standing over the broth, waiting for it to boil, when the tickle in her throat flares up without warning. The violence of the sensation catches her completely off-guard, and she doesn’t even have time to turn away before the coughs are sputtering from her mouth, forcing her eyes shut and not abating for a long time. When the fit finally peters out, Misaki tentatively opens her eyes. The stove swims in her blurry vision, and she notes with confusion the small blobs that seem to have materialised from nowhere. She blinks hard to clear the tears, and her stomach drops.

Petals.

Floating in the soup, softly translucent where the boiling liquid has drained away their colour. Small and pale and delicate, scattered on the stove and the floor beneath it. And one large, rich violet one, sitting softly right in the palm she’d used to muffle her coughs.

“Oh.”

The word escapes Misaki in a prolonged breath, and she sits down heavily onto the cold kitchen floor.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Misaki has never been one for self-reflection. Any extreme emotion, be it happiness, sadness, or excitement, has always been stuffed haphazardly behind a veneer of blunt words and sarcasm. Everything was just less complicated that way, she figured. But then, one Tsurumaki Kokoro just had to barge loudly into Misaki’s world, dragging with her two other idiots (and one shy drummer), and cracking the brunette’s defences irreparably. These past few months, Misaki has found that smiles come easier, sit more naturally in the curve of her mouth, and don’t bring with them the urge to wrestle her expression back into blankness.

And that would have been fine. It really would, if not for _it_ blindsiding her out of nowhere, making her stomach flutter and her cheeks bloom red and her heart drum with a terrifying intensity whenever she was around a certain person. Panicking and completely out of her depth, Misaki hadn’t even tried to come to terms with it. She’d simply pushed it down as far as possible into the deepest recesses of her mind, until she could once again face that person without trembling. And she had been content in the knowledge that that was the end of it, that it was just a phase that would fade if she ignored it for long enough.

Until now. Now, _it’s_ come back with a vengeance, the petals that spew forth from her throat almost daily now its irrefutable manifestation. 

Misaki doesn’t need to confirm, not when she knows full well who it is. But she does anyway, scooping up the first fully-bloomed flower she coughs out (five petals of a rich violet that darkens to a deep red in the eye of the blossom) and bringing it to her computer. With sweaty fingers that slip on the keys, she types her query into the search bar and scrolls through the images until she finds one that matches.

 _The purple hibiscus flower, scientific name_ Hibiscus syriacus. _It is commonly found in hot, humid lands such as India, Hawaii, Haiti, or Malaysia. It has different meanings in different cultures. In China, the hibiscus symbolises the beauty of fame and..._

“The fleeting,” Misaki finishes out loud, voice barely more than a whisper.

A small chuckle bubbles past the plants infesting her throat. Then another laugh, and another, until she’s hunched over her desk, mirthless peals of them rocking her frame. Tears gather in the corners of her eyes and drip into the computer’s keyboard, and her laughter eventually settles into quiet, subdued sobs.

There’s no use denying it now, is there? The proof is displayed in the harsh light of the screen and the vibrant colours of the flower she’s afflicted with.

She’s in love with Seta Kaoru.

Kaoru, whose shallow princely act Misaki had long seen through and written off as nonsense. Kaoru, whose true self is deceptively insightful and kind and so, so attentive to her loved ones’ every need. Kaoru, who isn’t as excitable as Kokoro and Hagumi or as delicate as Kanon. Kaoru, who sometimes drops all pretences when it’s just the two of them and treats Misaki like an equal, almost a _friend._

Kaoru, who, even if Misaki confesses, will only ever see her as another one of her “little kittens”; merely one that took longer to ensnare.

o0o0o0o0o0o

It’s a beautiful spring morning. The vast, azure sky stretches above, unmarred by a single cloud. The sun beams down brightly, its golden light warm on the world below. A cool breeze plays through the city, caressing leaves and strands of hair with gentle fingers.

But Misaki notices none of it as she walks stiffly down the path towards Studio CiRCLE, surgical mask fitted over her face and cap low over her eyes. All she can feel are the hard edges of the carboard rectangle clutched in her tight fist. She runs her thumb over the letters indented on the card – it’s the name of the building she has just exited.

The Danchou Hanahaki Clinic.

It’s the most renowned and reliable treatment centre for hanahaki disease in the town. Their plant-removal operations have a very high success rate, leaving no trace of the infestation, and rarely ever damaging the patient’s tracheal area in the process. Misaki had gone there, hoping to schedule an appointment in the earliest timeslot available and loitered awkwardly around the waiting room, sneaking occasional glances at the increasingly-uncomfortable receptionist. In the end, she’d just dashed up to the counter, swiped a business card from the little holder, and sped out.

It’s cowardly of her, she knows. Not to mention irrational. There’s not a chance this won’t end in anything but tragedy if she lets it drag on. But the faintest glimmer of stubborn hope that remains inside her was enough to hold her back from approaching the receptionist in the clinic.

 _Damn it_. Misaki swallows hard against the blockage in her throat and quickens her pace, determinedly pushing all thoughts from her mind until she’s through the doors of CiRCLE. She makes her way to Harohapi’s regular practice room, greets Kanon, and sighs in her usual manner at Kokoro and Hagumi’s antics. Kaoru sweeps dramatically over to her, proclaiming: “at last, the fated princess has arrived!”, and the brunette rolls her eyes, trying and failing to stamp down the traitorous fluttering of her heart. After much wrangling by Misaki and Kanon of their overly-excitable band members, they finally settle down and begin their rehearsal.

It goes well. Better than usual, actually—Kanon’s drumming vibrates deep in Misaki’s bones, Hagumi’s bass rumbles powerfully in her chest, Kokoro’s voice fills the room with its bright presence, and Kaoru’s guitar reverberates in a star-spun shiver that wracks Misaki’s entire body. It’s in times like these—caught in the easy, captivating rhythm of her band members, flipping switches and bringing in samples in smooth succession—that Misaki can truly admit that she does not regret joining Hello, Happy World. That her place is here, shining side by side with these people she has inexplicably grown to cherish.

The song ends with a flourish, and Kokoro and Hagumi are immediately bouncing all over the studio, yelling about how amazing and fun that was. A small but satisfied smile adorns Kanon’s face as she looks on quietly.

“Ah...” Kaoru sighs, a hand over her chest, “that was a simply magnificent rendition. Even now does my heart still tremble in the throes of our passionate performance! It is as the great bard says: ‘If music be the food of love, play on.’”

 _Huh, she actually attributed the quote to the right person this time,_ Misaki notes in amusement. Her lips involuntarily curve up as she watches Kaoru commend Hagumi on the improved dynamic range of her playing, kiss a blushing Kanon on the back of the hand while remarking on how much bolder her drumming has gotten, and spin a laughing Kokoro around while praising the power and projection of her voice. Though delivered in that flowery, flirtatious way of Kaoru’s, all three seem visibly brighter, more confident, in the wake of her compliments. And Misaki is reminded once again of how the guitarist had first coaxed open her heart.

She’s snapped out of her thoughts by Kaoru’s approach. “Misaki, your performance was simply phenomenal! Little kitten, you must make sure to pass your techniques onto Michelle when you see her.”

Misaki opens her mouth to respond, and promptly chokes on the cough that rises from her throat. She doubles over, pressing a hand against her face mask to stop the petals from falling out.

“Misaki!” The others immediately surround her, exclaiming in concern.

“Mii-kun, your cold is getting a lot worse!” Hagumi says worriedly. “I know you said that Michelle’s been too busy to come to rehearsals recently, but shouldn’t you call her here so you can take a break? I’m sure she can pick up everything before the live—she’s just amazing like that!”

“Hagumi is right,” Kaoru coaxes, rubbing gentle, grounding circles into Misaki’s back. Even in this state, the younger girl still shivers from the tingles Kaoru’s touch sends across her skin. “You need to go home, take care of yourself, and rest properly, my kitten.”

“I’m— fine—” Misaki manages between coughs. “Just need— the bathroom—” Heaving herself up on shaky legs, she leaves the studio as fast as she can, slipping inside the live house’s bathroom and locking herself into a stall. When the fit finally subsides, Misaki wastes no time in drawing the business card out from her hoodie pocket and tapping the displayed number into her phone. In a raw, rasping voice, she books an appointment, then ends the call and lets the phone drop from between her trembling fingers.

Three weeks. Twenty-one days from now, is when she’ll be free from the flowers torturing her throat and the sickly perfume of hibiscus. And when the sensation of her loudly drumming heart in the violet-haired girl’s presence, the irrepressible electricity Kaoru’s touch generates on her skin, and the sinking feeling of staring into those unreadable crimson eyes will fade into a distant memory.

Misaki grits her teeth. There’s only a Harohapi live to get through, first.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o

 _Flip this switch. Turn that dial. Bring in one track and fade out another._ It’s all Misaki can do to focus on these actions through the feverish heat of the costume, the thunderous cheers of the audience, and the agonising blockage in her throat. Kokoro leans too close to the mic as the song crescendos to its climax, and the resulting squeal drills an unbearable pain into Misaki’s skull. Her clumsy fingers in Michelle’s hand stumble and slip on a record, producing an out-of-place scratching sound.

Misaki grits her teeth, trying to get a hold of herself. She looks up through watery eyes just in time to catch Kaoru dip Kokoro low into the stage floor while somehow still managing to keep playing. Kokoro’s smile is dazzling, stretching from ear to ear, and the answering sparkle in Kaoru’s eyes is just as bright and intense, the two seemingly caught in an electric forcefield of passion. Misaki’s chest tightens painfully, her heart thudding in longing.

All at once, it happens.

An uncontrollable spasm rises in her throat. Explosive coughs that don’t seem to cease expel from her mouth; blossom after blossom comes spewing out, filling what little space there is inside of the suit; the audience exclaims in surprise when she falls into her turntables, shorting out the audio; the scent of hibiscus is choking her, burning her throat and nose and streaming eyes; she’s vaguely aware of her panicked band members crowding around her; tries to call out to them but she _can’t **breathe**_ —

The last thing she hears before the darkness claims her is Kaoru’s desperate voice, screaming her name.

o0o0o0o0o0o

She wakes as if swimming up from the bottom of a swamp—groggy, aching, and disorientated. The room that greets when she cracks open her eyes her is too blindingly white, sending a shooting pain through her head. Hurriedly closing her eyes again, Misaki surveys the surroundings with her other senses first.

She’s somewhere quiet and still. The blankets covering her feel too stiff and scratchy to be her own, and an object rests heavily over her mouth and nose, delivering air that feels cleaner than normal. A slight rustle to Misaki’s right alerts her to another presence in the room, and she opens her eyes again, more slowly and carefully this time. A figure blurs into focus, violet hair tied up in its customary ponytail and shoulders uncharacteristically hunched.

“Kaoru-san,” Misaki tries to say, and chokes at the raw, throbbing pain in her throat.

Kaoru’s head snaps up at the sound of Misaki’s voice. Without warning, she leaps up from her chair beside the bed and takes the other girl into her arms, burying her face in the curve of Misaki’s shoulder. Frozen, with her heartbeat booming inside her ears, Misaki registers the subtle fragrance of lavender, the brush of soft hair against her skin, and warmth. But the older girl’s body is trembling against her, and when she finally pulls back to look at Misaki, her eyes are bright and wet.

“Oh, Misaki...” Kaoru exhales unsteadily, “I’m so glad you’re awake.”

In her dazed state, the only reply Misaki can manage is a croaked, “Wh-where...?”

Kaoru’s eyes darken slightly, their gaze lowering. “A hospital,” she answers. Then, after a slight hesitation: “...The Danchou Clinic.”

Misaki feels ice crawl down her spine. She looks around, taking in the stark walls, the oxygen mask in the sheets where it had landed after Kaoru knocked it off, the slightly-ajar door from behind which conspicuous scrabbling and whispers are coming. Her eyes alight on the single hibiscus blossom on the bedside table, and then on Kaoru, sitting alone at her side without the other Harohapi members, boring into Misaki with an intense, penetrating gaze. The brunette lets her eyelids fall in resignation.

Slowly, Kaoru takes the hibiscus flower in her fingers, stroking its delicate petals. When she speaks, her voice is heavy and full of significance. “Misaki... Is this— Are you...?”

Head bowed, Misaki gives a reluctant, imperceptible nod—there’s no denying it, not with the vivid, exact colouration of the flower. “I’m sorry, Kaoru-san,” she whispers. “You were never meant to find out. I— I was going to have the removal operation after the live, but I couldn’t hold out until then and now the live is ruined and I’ve made you uncomfortable—!” Eyes stinging, Misaki bites back the stream of words that threaten to spill out. “I’m sorry,” she repeats lamely, staring down at her lap.

For a long time, there is silence, and the heavy stone of dismay drops further and further into Misaki’s stomach. That stone suddenly dissolves into fluttering butterflies when warm hands catch her shoulders in a careful grip, their thumbs rubbing slow circles into her skin. She raises her eyes to meet Kaoru’s crimson gaze, and wilts under the utter gentleness and compassion she finds there, shrinking from the other’s touch.

“If you hate me,” Misaki breathes out, “you can just say so. Please don’t pretend for my sake.”

“Oh, Misaki,” Kaoru says softly, quizzically, and those gentle hands move to cup the brunette’s face. “Did you never once consider that I might return your feelings?”

And she kisses her.

It is as if until this moment, Misaki has been living in a stagnant, monochrome world. Kaoru’s lips breathe into her colour and movement and _life_.The sweet scent of lavender fills her senses, washing away all traces of hibiscus; she can feel the plants in her throat receding, dissolving along with that ever-present ache. Sparks dance and race through her veins, spreading from where Kaoru’s lips rest warmly against hers, where her arms lovingly encircle her waist, where Misaki’s own hands have naturally settled on Kaoru’s shoulders. When they finally break apart for air and Misaki opens her eyes, the world seems to have taken on soft, kind glow.

“How?” Misaki asks in wonder, remembering for the first time in a while what it feels like to speak easily, painlessly. “Why me? It could have been Shirasagi-senpai, Kanon-san, Kokoro, any of your little kittens... They would all be a better fit.”

“But it is you whom my heart has led me to,” Kaoru replies gently. Her arms are still securely encompassing Misaki’s smaller frame, and the brunette unconsciously leans into her embrace.

“My darling, can you not see how brightly you shine? You were recruited against your will into this venture of making the world smile, and yet you have borne the heavy mantle of responsibility upon your shoulders without complaint. You clean up after our endeavours, though it must not be easy. You keep us on the path towards our goal when we threaten to stray. And you have even spent countless hours learning to compose, to understand Kokoro’s... unique lyrical expression, so that Harohapi may perform the wonderful music we do today.”

Gaze infinitely soft and affectionate, Kaoru thumbs away the overwhelmed tears that have begun to slip down Misaki’s cheeks.

“Not only that; you are one of the kindest people I know. Keeping Kokoro's dream alive, filling in the role of big sister to Hagumi, always supporting and watching over Kanon, and being someone in front of whom I can step off the stage... Kokoro is right. You truly are the guardian angel of Harohapi, Misaki.”

Misaki’s eyes widen, head suddenly whirling. It’s true—Kokoro has uttered that phrase at some point—but only in reference to Michelle. A memory flashes to the front of her mind: the distant, panicked sound of Kaoru shouting her name as she’d succumbed to unconsciousness during the live. Not the name of the bear. _Her name_. 

“Kaoru-san,” Misaki begins slowly, eyes travelling up to meet Kaoru’s, “do you know that I’m...?”

“Michelle?” Kaoru finishes with a little chuckle. “Yes, I do. I always have.”

“Th-then why...?”

"Because it frees you," Kaoru says simply. 

Misaki blinks incredulously, opening her mouth to retort, but the older girl ploughs on.

"When you're Michelle, you are less restrained. You're unafraid to show the affection and care you would normally keep hidden, unafraid to venture beyond moderation, unafraid to let the world see your radiance onstage. It's not unlike how, when I immerse myself into a character, there is no space left for silly things like fear of heights to occupy my mind."

Kaoru sighs softly. “But, I recognise that being Michelle isn’t quite as simple as donning a costume and acting in a one-night play. It’s caused you a lot of trouble, hasn’t it? Not in the least today—you could have died.” The last sentence comes out as a whisper. The violet-haired girl enfolds Misaki tightly in her arms, a trembling “I’m so sorry” murmured into her hair.

Misaki lays still in Kaoru’s hold for some moments. Then, slowly, tentatively, she winds both arms around the older girl, returning her embrace. “I forgive you,” she says quietly. “You’re right, after all—being in Michelle has helped me break past at least one inhibition today.” She smiles wryly at the hibiscus, the last remaining evidence of her affliction. “And besides, the fault isn’t only on you, unless you want to tell me that Kokoro and Hagumi were in on this too?” Glancing towards the door, Misaki notes that it’s silent now, and internally thanks Kanon for presumably dragging the other two away to give them some privacy.

A full laugh escapes Kaoru’s lips. “No, I am fairly sure that reasoning was held by me alone.”

“Great,” the brunette groans jokingly, “guess I’m going to have a lot to explain to them later...”

“At least you won’t be alone.” Kaoru beams brightly at her, and Misaki smiles back, lips curving up uncontrollably, soul floating on air.

Lying against Kaoru like this, with warm sunlight streaming in from the window and the older girl’s fingers carding gently, reverently through her hair, Misaki feels the last of the weariness and anguish leave her muscles. Drained from the revelations of the last few hours and finally able to relax, her eyelids slip shut and her breathing becomes even.

“Sleep well, my beloved princess,” Kaoru whispers, pressing a fleeting kiss onto her forehead, and Misaki drifts off into lavender-scented dreams. 


End file.
